


Sympathy for Maferath

by Rhiannon87



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Fade, there are many spirits that embody our virtues. Spirits of compassion, justice, love... faith.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sympathy for Maferath

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сочувствие Маферату](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600659) by [Sellaginella](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sellaginella/pseuds/Sellaginella)



It was not an easy thing, loving a prophet.

It started small. Speaking with his patients in the clinic, with the mages in the underground rebellion, with their friends.

 _Always_ with their friends—they teased him about it, about his obsession. Isabela complained that he was no fun ever since he’d gotten religion.

Hawke disagreed. After all, Anders’s beliefs didn’t include any rules about celibacy.

And because it was small, at first, it wasn’t quite so hard. Anders still acted like a normal person, most of the time, willing to play with kittens or crack jokes or spend a night at the tavern. She never doubted that he loved her. Faith disapproved, she knew that, but back then Anders could still roll his eyes and call the spirit a stick-in-the-mud before tackling her into bed.

But he and the spirit of Faith couldn’t stop. They had a vision of a world remade, of a Chant reborn, of mages living free among their family and friends. They—he—had to make that vision reality.

“I want them all to have what I have with you,” he told her, and when he looked at her like that she couldn’t do anything but agree.

\--

The people adored him. He was charming as ever, bright smiles and beautiful words. They flocked first to his clinic, then to the Hightown markets, to listen to him speak, to be healed. Every day, the crowds grew larger. Priests and Templars abandoned their vows to follow him.

They called him the Son of Andraste. He never tried to correct them. She may have been their Champion, but he was their Prophet, and so few could see beyond his radiance to the ones standing in his shadow.

As Kirkwall drew ever closer to open war, she saw less of Anders and more of Faith. One night, after lying awake for hours in a cold bed, she stormed downstairs to the study. He was at his desk, writing, always writing now, blending his words and Andraste’s into the foundations of a new faith.

“Would you even notice if I left?” she asked.

He looked up at her, eyes aglow with the white light of Faith, and she knew in that moment he had no idea who she was. Then he blinked, and the glow vanished, leaving behind the gentle brown eyes she’d fallen in love with years ago. “What—what are you talking about?” he asked.

She choked back a sob and wrapped her arms around herself. “I should not have to _beg_ my lover to come to our bed,” she said. “You’ve been down here for three nights, Anders.”

Anders looked down at the desk, at the stacks of papers surrounding him, and shook his head. “Three nights,” he murmured. “Must’ve gotten carried away.”

That was what he called it. Not blacking out, not surrendering his body and mind to the spirit inside him, but just… carried away. She looked down, blinking back tears, and wished she loved him a little less so she could make good on her threat and walk away.

He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair, whispering apologies and promises of undying love. She buried her face in his shoulder and let herself believe him, because it hurt less than doubt.

\--

Three years after the Viscount’s death, Orsino publicly declared his support for Anders and his New Chant. Meredith threatened to have all the mages executed, starting with the false prophet. She could not have picked a worse threat.

The people of Kirkwall gathered in the Chantry courtyard, demanding that Meredith be killed, that the mages be freed, that Elthina step aside and let Anders take her place. The Knight-Commander ordered her Templars to disperse the crowd.

In the end, the Templars destroyed each other, Meredith’s loyalists and Anders’s followers dueling outside the Gallows. Meredith died as Anders climbed the Chantry steps. Hawke was at his side, as always, as he promised to lead the faithful into a new era. The crowd cheered as he spread his arms, glowing with the light of Faith, shining brighter than the sun.

\--

The Grand Cleric and those few who remained loyal to the Chantry fled the city for Starkhaven. Sebastian swore that he would see Kirkwall retaken and the false prophet put to the sword. Anders reacted to the threat with an easy smile and a shrug. “Everyone needs a good arch-nemesis, right?”

He was the leader, the figurehead, the symbol of the New Chant. She and Orsino were the administrators, figuring out how to rule the city, what to do with the newly-freed mages, how to handle the Templars. Apostates from across the Free Marches flocked to Kirkwall as the Gallows were opened. The Circle still existed, but as a place of learning, not a prison. Young mages could learn how to use their powers and return home to their families at night. The Templars who remained now called themselves the Order of the Sun, casting aside the flaming sword for holy light.

For a while, everything was just as they’d dreamed. There was peace in Kirkwall, and they were happy together.

It didn’t last, of course. The Divine declared an Exalted March on the city, led by Prince Vael and legions of Templars sent from across Thedas. Hawke was horrified when they heard the declaration; Anders smiled. “The message of Andraste didn’t truly begin to spread until she was martyred,” he said, eyes shining.

“Would you sacrifice Kirkwall for this?” she demanded, grabbing his shoulders. “Would you sacrifice _me_!?”

He smiled at her, sweet and loving, and leaned his forehead against hers. “We’ll be an inspiration to the world,” he said. “We’ll be remembered forever.”

She knew that was a lie. He would be remembered. She would be a footnote, a piece of historical trivia recalled only by the most dedicated of scholars.

In the end, she convinced him to flee the city to ensure that his message would endure. In one city, it could be stopped, but in a dozen, it could not be silenced. It broke her heart to know that it was his faith, not her love, that made him want to go on living.

\--

She was taking a shortcut through an alley in a distant Nevarran city when the Seeker found her. It was an act born of desperation. The Chantry was collapsing, the Circles freed, the Templars either switching allegiances or dying in countless, futile Marches. Anders had been right: ten years from now, someone like him would love someone like her, and no one would tear them apart. (And Maker, how the crowds had cheered for him, for them both, when he’d taken her hands and vowed to create that world.)

“You can stop the violence,” the Seeker said. “There has been so much death. You can end it. Hand him over to us, and we will set things right.” Hawke just stared at her. The Seeker took a step forward, imploring. “You will save the Chantry,” she said. “You will never be forgotten.”

“Just as we have never forgotten Maferath?” she asked archly, and ran the Seeker through on her sword. She stepped over the bleeding woman and kept walking. It was not easy, loving a prophet, but she would rather be forgotten than betray him.

He was waiting for her at home. She kissed him and smiled and led him back to the bedroom of their safe house. There was no reason to tell him what had happened, and even if she had, he wouldn’t have been surprised by it. She was not a traitorous warlord; he was not a rebel barbarian.

Anders was so much more.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a random comment in a random discussion long-sing lost to the whims of time and the internet: what if Anders had merged with a spirit of Faith, rather than Justice?


End file.
